15-Love
by LuxKen27
Summary: A series of oneshots exploring Bruce Patman's and Lila Fowler's pre-canon summer fling, before the start of the classic Sweet Valley High series.
1. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Title:** Hit Me with Your Best Shot

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Fandom:** _Sweet Valley High_

 **Universe:** Pre-canon (sophomore year)

 **Genre:** Drama,Romance

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** 4,615

 **Summary:** Bruce Patman plays to win.

 _Author's note:_ Written for the 2015 Summer Mini Challenge prompt white diamonds.

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Sweet Valley_ _High_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1983 – 2003 Francine Pascal/Bantam Books/Random House. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

Lila Fowler was loath to acknowledge another's superior strength or skill, but she had to admit it: Bruce Patman was a better tennis player than she was.

It wasn't much of a leap – Bruce was the star of the Sweet Valley High varsity tennis team, just as he'd been the star of the junior varsity team last year, and the intramural squad at SVMS the year before _that_. He had an easy, innate talent for the game that he loved to show off: a powerful serve, silky smooth volleys, an ease of moment around the court that made other players seethe with indignant jealousy.

He especially loved to make a point about how he'd grown up on grass courts – thus, in his estimation, learning a far superior version of the game. He loved to charge the net, his huge wingspan blocking passing shots from every angle, dinking back infuriating drop volleys that died the moment they hit the court. The Patman estate featured a grass court – and a groundskeeper who'd trained at Wimbledon, whose sole responsibility was to tend to that court – and it was one of the only grass courts in the entire state of California, which Bruce never failed to brag about whenever the chance arose.

Not that Lila was a bad player by comparison. She'd been taking lessons from a retired pro since the age of six, and her father had laid down a state-of-the-art hard court as one of her many birthday presents when she turned thirteen. Unlike the fabled Patman grass court, there was no pomp and circumstance surrounding Lila's court – it was much more practical, in fact, made of concrete and rubber, not unlike most of the public courts that dotted the southern California landscape – not to mention the gated country clubs that lined the west coast.

Of course, Lila's court was special in a different way – not because it required specially-trained maintenance staff, but because the surface itself was a custom shade of deep, royal purple. Purple had been her favorite color when she was in middle school, and though she had long outgrown her obsession with wearing clothing in that color every day, she still appreciated the crown jewel of the expansive back acreage of Fowler Crest. There wasn't another court like it in the entire state – or, indeed, in the entire world, or so the architect had told her when he'd submitted the plans for her approval.

What was curious, perhaps, was that Bruce Patman's game didn't translate so well to the slower, truer concrete, with its high, consistent bounce that absorbed the wicked slice and heavy topspin he liked to employ. Lila was sure that he'd never play on her court again after she humiliated him during their first – and, to date, _only_ – match, back when she was just a mere freshman at SVH and he'd just made the varsity team as a sophomore, but here he was, throwing down aces and slicing volleys off her flat return groundstrokes like he'd been playing on it all his life.

She had been surprised – and amused – when he'd shown up at her doorstep that morning, tennis gear in hand, and proclaimed that he wanted a rematch. She suspected that what he really wanted to do was show off his latest pride and joy, a sleek black Porsche 911 with personalized plates that he'd received for his sixteenth birthday. Everyone had ooh'ed and aah'ed over it at his birthday party, of course, but it was just Bruce's way, whenever he received a new toy – he came up with the most ridiculous excuses to show it off.

She wasn't sure why he'd thought _she_ 'd be impressed; after all, she didn't follow him around like a lovesick puppy, in awe of his wealth or confidence or stunning good looks. The Fowlers had just as much money to throw around as the Patmans did, and George Fowler could spoil his only child with the best of them. Lila had never wanted for anything in her life, transportation included. She'd already chosen the car that would be hers upon turning sixteen, and it was far more glamorous than a mere Porsche.

Nevertheless, she'd decided to humor Bruce that morning, mostly because she was bored and didn't have anything better to do. She'd invited him in so she wouldn't have to feign interest in his car, had quickly changed into her tennis gear, and the two of them had proceeded to the garish purple court.

He must've had more on his mind than just his car (for once), because he didn't make any cracks about her court, but had merely settled in for a competitive set of tennis. He was playing like he had something to prove, which provoked Lila's curiosity.

After six games in the unrelenting summer heat, however, she was no longer curious about his motivations. She'd been going easy on him thus far, not wanting to shatter his fragile male ego (or disabuse him of the notion that he was, in fact, the world's greatest tennis player), but he hadn't been able to keep his competitive fire to himself for long. He kept whooping it up every time he hit a winner off of one of her returns, calling her by her last name like she was one of his putrid teammates, and teasing her for playing "like a girl."

Bruce could be an interesting distraction when he wanted to be, but his default setting was arrogant jerk.

"Oh, come on, Fowler, is that the best you can do?" he crowed as her forehand lob sailed long of the baseline. He shot her a condescending look over his shoulder as he retreated to the deuce court. "And here I thought you'd make a worthy opponent."

Lila gritted her teeth, clamping her hand around the fuzzy yellow tennis ball until her knuckles turned white. She'd rather be bored than insulted any day of the week – and besides, it _wasn't_ the best she could do.

 _You want to see what I have in my arsenal?_ she mused to herself, flicking her wrist so that her diamond tennis bracelet slid down to the relative safety of her forearm. She bounced around on the balls of her feet. _Well, don't say I never obliged you_ , _Bruce Patman!_

She settled into her serving stance just behind the baseline, glanced at her opponent across the net, and threw a slice serve down the T, which skidded away from Bruce's almighty forehand. He frowned, but paced over to the ad court without offering a comment. She tossed in another slice, this time out wide, and smirked when Bruce flailed towards it but missed.

"Game," she announced perkily, tossing the tennis balls left on her side of the court towards him.

She walked over to the sideline and picked up her water bottle, taking a long, cool sip as she waited for Bruce to gather the balls – and himself. She couldn't help but grin when she heard him grumbling to himself: _"So she can hit a slice serve – so what? It's not like it's hard."_

She sauntered back to the baseline, digging in her heels as she crouched into her return stance. Bruce had been serving almost exclusively to her backhand thus far, earning blocked return after blocked return that he could easily cut off at net. She wondered if the mix up in her game would be met with a bit of variety in his.

She leaned toward her forehand side as he tossed the ball up, and lucked into a correct guess. She fired the return back, around the net post and down the line, and all he could do was watch it whiz past him as he scampered to net. He scowled at her, but she pretended not to notice, toying with the clasp of her bracelet as she walked to the other side of the court before crouching into her return stance again, ready for the next point.

Bruce kicked a heavy serve to her backhand, which she was able to send back with interest, pinning him at the baseline. They exchanged groundstrokes, and this time it was Lila who crept into net, slicing a high backhand volley just inside the sideline, one that spun away from Bruce's waiting racquet.

"When did you get so good, Fowler?" he grunted, slinging his racquet against the net.

Lila stopped at the service line and turned to face him. "I've always been good," she replied haughtily, tucking a lock of hair beneath her headband.

Bruce's response was a sly smile. "Is that so," he drawled, his eyes taking a blatant, leisurely stroll down the length of her and back.

Lila arched a brow as his gaze returned to hers. "Like what you see?" she sneered. "There's more where that came from. I've been practicing with Jessica all summer."

"Jessica?" Bruce snorted. "Jessica _Wakefield_?!" He shook his head. "I'm shocked, Fowler. Talk about a try-hard. _Elizabeth_ , on the other hand… Now _there_ 's a worthy adversary." He smirked.

"Are you really comparing me to Saint Elizabeth of Sweet Valley – and finding me lacking?" Lila scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. "Now I really _am_ offended. Don't you know quality when you see it, _Patman_?"

His smirk stretched into a grin. "All I'm saying is, I like a good challenge," he called out as he backtracked to the baseline.

Lila snorted. "Don't flatter yourself," she muttered, retreating to her own baseline. Jessica was the best tennis player she knew – even better than Bruce, and she was tempted to tell him that. Jessica would've killed her, though, because she had a huge, embarrassing crush on the soon-to-be-junior, and believed he was every bit as amazing as he made himself out to be.

Elizabeth, though she held the correct opinion of Bruce, was otherwise a complete snore. Just the idea of comparing herself to the nerdy Wakefield twin made her laugh – and the idea that Bruce would find her more of a worthy challenge than Lila herself made her seethe.

 _That's it_ , she thought, turning back to the net and crouching into her return stance, _forget you and your precious ego, Bruce Patman. Nobody compares me to Liz and finds me wanting!_

They continued to play, with Lila's blistering passing shots a solid match to Bruce's serve and deadly volleys. Several of their service games went to deuce, but each of them managed to hold their nerve – and their serve – as the twelfth game approached. Bruce was serving to stay in the set and force a tiebreak, but Lila didn't give him any slack, pounding her groundstrokes with greater confidence and authority. She'd succeeded in pinning him back, not allowing him to rush forward and finish points quickly, but he still got the best of her sometimes, forcing her into an occasional error, or sending a winner sailing past her.

Nonetheless, the game went to deuce several times, each advantage going to Lila. She finally managed to break the deadlock, slicing a delicate dropshot off of a routine backhand of Bruce's, a surprise that saw him helplessly stuck in no man's land between the baseline and the service line, unable to do anything but watch as her shot barely cleared the net, bouncing softly on his side of the court before falling out of bounds.

With that perfectly placed touch shot, she'd broken his serve and won the set.

Lila couldn't help but gloat when Bruce sent her a murderous look as he stomped over to the sideline.

"So how does it feel to lose, Patman?" Lila crooned, picking up her water bottle again and taking a triumphant swig.

"I never lose," he grunted, unceremoniously wiping the sweat from his brow.

"I believe the score is 7-5 in my favor," Lila proclaimed with a smirk, "which means I win."

"One set is hardly a proper match, Fowler," Bruce shot back. He took a long drink from his water bottle. "Besides, I was going easy on you out there."

Lila arched a brow. "If all that huffing and puffing and floundering around is what you call 'going easy,' then I'd hate to see you in full flight," she returned, toying with her tennis bracelet. "You move like a cow on ice."

"That's because _you_ have an inferior court," he spat. "If we were playing on a _real_ court – a _grass_ court – then I'd wipe the floor with you, easily."

"Aww, poor Brucey," she teased, twining her fingers through his sweaty, slicked back hair. "Can't even beat a girl at tennis, tsk tsk!"

Bruce grabbed her arm, yanking her hand away from his hair and giving her a hard stare. "Don't tempt me, Fowler," he growled, pinning her bracelet awkwardly against her wrist.

Lila pulled out of his harsh grip. "Geez, Bruce, lighten up," she chided, rubbing her wrist where the clasp had dug into her skin. "It's just a game, and you started it. _You're_ the one who came over and begged for my company this morning, let's not forget."

Bruce laughed. "Begged? Is _that_ what you think?" he snorted. He shook his head, looping his towel around his neck and pushing his hands through his hair. "No, I don't think so. The only person begging for attention around here is you."

Lila narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious of him. "Then why are you here?" she asked bluntly.

He shrugged. "I was bored," he claimed, "and I figured you were bored, too, so I thought – what the hell?" He met her glare with a challenge of his own. "Why not swing over to Fowler Crest and see if we couldn't figure out a way to relieve our mutual boredom?"

Lila's heart began to beat heavily in her chest as he continued to stare at her with that intense, fathomless gaze. Everyone who knew them thought they hated each other, but the truth was they actually got along quite well. Nobody else in Sweet Valley understood what it was like to come from money – at least, not the sort of money their families possessed. It placed them in a higher rung of society, above their friends and classmates, where tennis and yachting were the sports of choice, and brunch at the country club was something that only desperate people did. Their world was very small and isolated, and it wasn't worth it to actively hate each other.

Not that it made them the best of friends, either, but they certainly appreciated one another.

Bruce smiled. "And then I remembered your ridiculous Unicorn-colored tennis court, and figured we'd have a friendly hit."

They set off towards the house. "Have you ever considered ripping it up and putting a _real_ court in?" Bruce asked as they ambled along.

"It _is_ a real court," Lila insisted. "The US Open is played on hard court."

Bruce snorted. "The US Open," he muttered, "is hardly Wimbledon."

Lila rolled her eyes. "Because we all know the success you've had at Wimby," she joked, referring to his less-than-successful attempt at winning the junior crown at his most coveted tournament. He'd made a big deal out of entering the draw when he was 14, bragging to everyone within shouting distance that he was going to win junior Wimbledon because he was, of course, the best grass court player in the world (in his own mind), only to crash out in the third round to some unknown Swedish player. He'd slinked home with his tail between his legs, complaining to anyone who would listen that he'd be robbed of his fair place in the quarterfinals, and beyond.

Bruce sniffed. "Winning a junior tournament is kid's stuff," he insisted. "The real challenge is at the senior level." He glanced at Lila. "I could do it, you know. I _could_ turn pro and win championships and Grand Slams, no problem." He tugged at the towel draped around his neck. "That is, _if_ I had the interest, of course."

"Of course," Lila echoed with a smirk. If there was one thing she knew about Bruce, it was that he hated to lose, and losing at junior Wimbledon two years ago had really crushed him – and probably his dreams of playing tennis professionally.

"What about you?" he mused. "You're not half-bad, you know, and it's not like the ladies' game has any sort of _depth_."

Lila ignored the barb, but considered the question. "Nah," she finally replied, "I hate to sweat that much. Besides," she added with a shrug, "Jessica's better than me, anyway."

"Jessica?" Bruce repeated incredulously, grabbing Lila's arm and pulling her to an abrupt stop. "Get real, Fowler. She is _not_ better than you."

Lila stared at him for a long moment. "A better _tennis player_ ," she clarified, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Bruce shook his head. "I'll believe it when I see it."

 _Wouldn't Jess just love to hear that_ , Lila thought sourly, conjuring up an image of her best friend's expression whenever Bruce was around. "Lovesick puppy" didn't even begin to describe it – her crush had grown to sickeningly embarrassing proportions over the years. Bruce was certainly handsome enough to have half their sophomore class chasing after him, but Lila had no idea what it was about him that inspired such hapless devotion.

"Hey," Bruce said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts, "let's go for a swim."

"What?" Lila murmured as he steered her towards the vast, picturesque pool carved into the hillside beside Fowler Crest.

"It's just what we need to cool off," Bruce insisted, his strides lengthening as they drew closer to the pool house. "This heat is brutal."

Lila couldn't argue with that – the July sun was searing down on them from a perfectly blue, cloudless sky – but she didn't feel like going through the laborious process of choosing a swimsuit and changing her clothes and finding her towel and suntan oil. Even just thinking about it made her want to curl up for a nap instead.

She slowed her pace, falling behind him though he still had hold of her elbow. "I don't know, Bruce," she hedged. "You don't even have a swimsuit."

He glanced back at her and grinned. "Who says?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Do you?" she sputtered, eyeing his racquet bag dubiously.

He shrugged. "No," he admitted, "but why should that stop me?"

Lila's jaw dropped. How could he even contemplate something as gauche as swimming without a suit? That's what _poor people_ did when they couldn't afford swimsuits, and didn't have access to anything better than the ol' swimming hole down at the creek. She shuddered at the very idea.

Bruce dropped his tennis gear beside the cabana just beyond the concrete skirt of the pool. He quickly kicked out of his shoes and socks before heading for the water. "C'mon, Fowler," he called out, pulling his shirt over his head, "live a little!"

Lila had only just set her racquet down beside his gear when she suddenly felt two hands grab her around the waist. She shrieked when she felt his grip tighten around her as he took a running leap into the deep end of the pool, pulling her in with him and soaking her thoroughly.

"Bruce Patman, you jerk!" she screamed as soon as she broke the surface, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. "How _dare_ you!"

Bruce surfaced alongside her and burst out laughing. "Oh, come now, Lila," he teased, "lighten up! It's only water!"

"Only _water_!" she sputtered, shoving a wave of it at him. "These are my best tennis whites, and you just _ruined_ them!" She made the mistake of looking down just then, and groaned in agony. "Oh, and _my_ _shoes_!"

Bruce shrugged. "So just get Daddy to buy you some more," he smirked. "I'm sure he can afford it."

Lila gave him a venomous scowl. "Shut up, Bruce Patman," she seethed. "I should make _you_ pay to replace my things! After all, I'm sure _you_ can afford it."

Bruce just laughed and swam away from her, launching into a graceful freestyle stroke as he headed for the other end of the pool.

Lila bobbed over to the side, bracing her arms against the rough concrete and preparing to lift herself out of the water.

That was when she realized it was missing.

"Oh, no," she whispered, turning back and scanning the water frantically. "No!" She pushed off, back towards where she'd landed so unceremoniously in the pool, and cupped her hands as she reached down into the water. Tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes as her fingers swirled without resistance below her.

"Bruce!" she cried out. "Bruce, _get back_ here!"

For once, Bruce Patman did as he was told, surfacing beside her within moments of her shout. "What?" he asked. "What's going on, Lila?"

Her tears spilled over her cheeks the moment she saw him. "My bracelet is gone!" she wailed, "and it's all thanks to you, you selfish jerk!" She shoved him, hard, hating herself for crying in front of him.

"What are you talking about, Lila?" he demanded. "How is it _my_ fault that you lost some bracelet?"

"It's not just 'some bracelet,'" she sobbed. "It's a white diamond tennis bracelet – "

"Who the hell wears an actual tennis bracelet while playing tennis?" Bruce broke in, only to earn himself another rough shove in response.

"It was the last piece of jewelry my mother ever gave me," Lila informed him angrily," and it's _your fault_ that it's lost, because _you_ pulled me into the pool!"

"Oh," he breathed, averting his eyes, his expression sobering. He took a deep breath. "Listen, will you just chill out for a minute?"

" _Chill out_?!" she shrieked. "Bruce Patman, I swear to God – !"

"All right, all right," he cut in, "I get it. I'll find your stupid bracelet." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Now, seriously, chill the fuck out before you hyperventilate and drown, okay? I'm not up for an extended rescue mission today." He paddled a small distance away from her before diving into the water, and Lila was momentarily amused to see that he hadn't stripped out of his clothing completely.

Apparently even Bruce Patman demanded a modicum of decency in mixed company.

Lila shivered, hugging her arms around herself as she floated towards the wall. She didn't want to leave the place where they'd landed when he'd hauled her into the water, but the water in the deep end was cold and dark, thanks to the unusual shape of the pool. She only ever ventured into it when swimming laps, preferring to spend most of her time floating on a raft in the brighter, shallow end, if she even bothered to get into the pool at all.

Time seemed to drag by as she waited for him to recover her bracelet. Tears still coursed down her cheeks, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs, an unbearable knot tightening in her stomach. She loved that bracelet, and she wore it everywhere. It was the last gift she'd ever received from her mother – it had come all the way from Paris, a birthday gift from when she'd turned twelve. It was absolutely breathtaking, a row of perfectly matched crystal clear diamonds set in platinum, and she never let it out of her sight.

 _And now_ , she thought miserably, _thanks to Bruce Patman, it's eight feet under, never to be seen again._

He surfaced once…then again… and then for a third time, his expression growing grimmer each time he prepared to dive back in. Lila turned away after the third time, her heartache too much to bear. She launched herself towards the side of the pool, folded her arms on the concrete, and sobbed – for the loss of the bracelet in such a stupid way, and for losing the final, tangible link to her mother, whom she hadn't seen in years.

She was so lost in her own despair that she didn't sense his presence until she heard the faint _clink_ of something hard landing beside her on the ground. "Geez, Lila, way to have some faith," Bruce said softly, his hand landing on her shoulder.

She opened her eyes and looked up, her heart skipping a beat when she realized that he'd found her bracelet after all. "Oh," she whimpered, running her fingers along the length of it, as if she was trying to convince herself that it was real, that it hadn't been lost forever.

She turned, surprised – and yet, not – when she realized just how close he was lingering beside her in the water. Without a second thought, she swept her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Mmm," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her in kind, "maybe I should do good deeds more often."

She chuckled. "Maybe you should," she agreed, curling into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She should've let him go then, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. He was so warm and solidly built, and he supported her – and the weight of her thoroughly soaked clothing – with effortless ease. Yes, surely _that_ was the reason why his hands had slipped down to cradle her backside, although when she felt her back come flush with the side wall of the pool, suddenly she wasn't so sure anymore.

She lifted her head to question him, but when she found his fathomless, icy-blue gaze, any words she'd conjured up completely deserted her. The look in his eyes was unreadable, but she felt as though he was staring straight through her. Her mind went totally blank, and the world around them slowly drifted away, until she couldn't remember that she was shivering in her tennis whites in the cold, deep end of the pool at Fowler Crest, her bracelet shorn from its usual spot on her wrist, her arms wrapped around the most arrogant, self-centered boy in Sweet Valley.

The intensity of his gaze made her flush, made her heart throb against her ribs, made the core of her being heat in delicious anticipation.

She hoped he couldn't sense it, because nobody brought Lila Fowler to her knees, literally or metaphorically – but in that moment, in that _instant_ , he could've done anything he'd wanted and she would've been putty in his hands.

He didn't speak, and she didn't speak; they simply gazed at each other – and then she felt his hold slide down over the backs of her legs as he leaned into her, and her eyes slipped shut as his lips brushed against her own, tentatively at first and then with more authority, and finally she understood what it was about this boy that turned her best friend into a simpering idiot whenever he was in range.

No one had ever _dared_ kiss her the way Bruce was kissing her now, with such certainty and confidence and skill. He was not intimidated by her or in awe of her; he knew how to please her, and how to get what he wanted in return. It was reckless and thrilling and addictive, the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his body flush against hers. The air – and water – around them fairly crackled with electricity.

"Well, well," he murmured against her lips, "who'd ever guess that Lila Fowler knew how to kiss?"

She smirked. "You're not so bad yourself, Patman," she returned.

His desire was obvious as he gazed at her with hooded eyes, and a little thrill shimmered down her spine when he squeezed the backs of her thighs. "I think," he mused, nipping at her lower lip, "that this could be the beginning of a _very_ beautiful friendship."


	2. One on One

**Title:** One on One

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Fandom:** _Sweet Valley High_

 **Universe:** Pre-canon (sophomore year)

 **Genre:** Romance

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** 3,302

 **Summary:** There's nothing quite as dangerous as a bored Lila Fowler.

 _Author's note:_ Written for the 2016 Summer Mini Challenge prompt blue lagoon.

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Sweet Valley_ _High_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1983 – 2003 Francine Pascal/Bantam Books/Random House. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

Lila Fowler was bored.

It was a typically beautiful summer day in Sweet Valley, but she had no one to share it with. Her friends had scattered at the end of the school year, into summer jobs or off on vacations with their families. Her father was on yet another business trip, and Fowler Crest's housekeeper had just started her annual summer sojourn back to whatever country she'd originally come from – Lila had never bothered to learn; it was too difficult to keep up with the revolving cast of servants.

It was never any fun for her to be alone, but worse than that, the usual summer haunts where she might find someone to spend time with were out of the question: Valley Mall was under perpetual construction; the air conditioning at Sweet Valley Cinema had gone bust the second week of summer and had yet to be fixed; the beach was full of tourists with screaming, obnoxious kids.

All she could do was count down the days until her own summer vacation at the end of August, when she'd jet off with her father for two weeks in Monte Carlo to live it up with the elitist of elite society. Until then, however, there was nowhere to go.

Nothing to do.

No one to hang out with.

Lila had luxuriated in bed for most of the morning, before deciding to take advantage of the bright California sun and a flawless, cloud-free sky. She'd slipped into a metallic gold bikini, put on her newest pair of designer sunglasses, and pulled out a bottle of her favorite European sun oil as she prepared for a day of sunbathing by her pool.

It wasn't just any pool, of course. Considered the pride of Fowler Crest's back acreage, it was nothing short of extraordinary: Olympic-sized, but shaped like a lagoon, it was cut into the side of a rolling hill, giving it the illusion of dropping off into the valley below. The water sparkled in the sunlight, shifting from bright teal to calm cerulean to slate blue at the coldest, deepest end. At night, custom in-laid lights made the water shimmer; it transitioned beautifully as the day faded, whether it was playing host to an outdoor barbeque or an all-day pool party.

It was practically wasted on a solitary person, however, and Lila didn't spend much time there by herself.

This particular afternoon, however, she was determined to work on her tan. She settled her things in a nearby chair before applying a generous amount of oil to her body and setting herself afloat on her favorite pool raft. She positioned herself for maximum tanning, and she closed her eyes as she soaked up the sun's rays. The blazing heat brought a welcome dullness to her restless mind, easing away the loneliness that was, unfortunately, her default state of being.

 _If nothing else happens this summer, at least I'll have a perfect tan_ , she consoled herself, mentally cataloguing her back-to-school wardrobe. Two weeks on the Monégasque coast would be like gilding the lily – she couldn't wait to see the looks on Cara's and Jessica's faces when she strolled into Sweet Valley High with her glorious golden glow. She'd wear white, she decided, musing over whether it would be worth the effort try to purchase something as mundane as a new sundress in Monte Carlo, or if she should simply shop her current, considerable wardrobe.

She sighed as she contemplated the vastness of her choices.

"Looking good, Fowler," drawled an approving voice from the vicinity of her left.

Lila opened her eyes, inclining her head toward the sound, and was unsurprised to find Bruce Patman standing there, practically leering at her. She knew he was in town, if only because her father had spent the majority of the previous evening ranting and raving about how Bruce's father was determined to cling to some plot of land in town that her own father considered vitally important to the expansion of his business empire. She had been utterly bored by the conversation, gleaning only that the Patmans had yet to embark on their yearly summer European tour.

Bruce could be an interesting companion, she reflected, but she preferred dealing with him in small doses. She thought he'd felt the same way about her, but apparently not, considering this was the second time this week that he'd invited himself over. Lila found that supremely irritating – even though they were, for all intents and purposes, next-door neighbors, that didn't mean that he could simply pop over whenever he felt like it, without calling to ask first.

The Patmans liked to pride themselves on being old-money landed gentry, but it was obvious that they had no manners.

"What do _you_ want?" Lila asked in a bored voice, not bothering to remove her sunglasses as she addressed him.

He smirked. "I thought I'd come over and see for myself that you were as bored as I was, considering there's nothing to do in this town," he replied. "I figured I'd give you the honor of a rematch on a _real_ tennis court." He motioned to a brand new, freshly-strung tennis racquet resting against the equipment bag at his feet.

"I'm shocked," Lila replied, laying one hand dramatically across her chest. "You mean you're telling me that your ego could handle losing to a girl _three_ times in a row?"

"That's where the _real_ court part comes in," he shot back, before dropping his shoulders in a light shrug. "I was willing to risk it, but I think you've got a better idea. And hey, I'm flexible."

She made a great show of lowering her sunglasses half an inch and scrutinizing him over the frames. "Did you bring a suit this time?" she mused, taking in his pristine tennis whites, brand new tennis shoes, and the cream-colored cashmere sweater tied around his shoulders.

He gave her a smoldering look as he untied the sweater, flinging it unceremoniously to the ground. "What do you think?" he mused, holding her gaze as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his shoes.

Lila's heart fluttered. She knew what he was doing: daring her to challenge him, to tell him to stop – and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of demurring. She schooled her features into a pointed expression of disinterest. "I think," she finally said as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his tennis shorts, "that you are _not_ getting into this pool naked."

"Oh no?" he drawled. "And who's going to stop me? You?"

"And why would I do that?" she pondered sarcastically. "I need a good laugh."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you…" He smiled, his voice trailing off as he shirked this final piece of outerwear, revealing a nondescript black bathing suit underneath.

There was nothing disappointing about him. He was six feet of pure, lean athleticism – long, smooth, muscled limbs and chiseled abs, honed by years of training for tennis. With his windswept black hair and fathomless blue eyes, he was absolutely stunning – and the worst part of all was that he knew it. Bruce Patman took great pride in his appearance, and he enjoyed lording his good looks over everyone, male and female alike.

Even so, he never missed an opportunity to have his ego stroked – which was why Lila was determined not to let her immense, practically magnetic attraction to him show. After all, he'd once told her that he enjoyed a challenge.

If he thought that merely standing in front of her, poised like a Ken doll on display, was going to inspire her to shower him with compliments, he had another thought coming.

She merely slid her sunglasses back into place, trailing her fingers through the water as she gazed at him.

Infuriatingly, he seemed completely unfazed by her silence. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, not bothering to wait for a response this time, instead turning on his heel and setting off for the diving board.

"Not at all," she murmured under her breath, her eyes sliding down the length of his body as he sauntered over to the far side of the pool. A tiny shiver raced down her spine as she admired him from afar, suddenly remembering what had happened the last time he'd taken a running leap into her pool.

Her gaze fell to her wrist, and the sparkling, perfectly matched row of diamonds encircling it. She'd had the bracelet's clasp fixed; nothing short of the Jaws of Life could tear it away from her now.

She looked up, watching as Bruce walked down the length of the diving board and simply stood on the end of it, gazing down into the water. He lifted his arms as if he was about to execute some complicated, Olympic-caliber dive. He rocked back on his heels, testing the board's flexibility, and for a moment she wondered if he was realized that the board was too close to the water to support anything more than a simple swan dive. If he tried anything fancy, he'd up at the bottom of the pool with a fractured skull.

She opened her mouth to warn him, but quickly closed it. He'd been to countless parties that she'd hosted over the years, and had dived off that board multiple times. Surely now, even if he was trying to impress her, he wasn't _that_ much of a macho idiot…?

Indeed not. He stilled, lowering his hands to his sides once more, and turned back, walking calmly back to the base. Once he got there, however, he immediately turned, ran the entire length of the board, and tucked his knees to his chest as he dove in, gleefully yelling, "Cannonball!" as he landed in the water.

Lila rolled her eyes and shifted her raft away from the sight of him. Trust Bruce to choose the most inelegant way possible to enter the pool.

She trailed her fingers in the water as she listened to him splashing around behind her. It was rather fun to withhold her attention from him, knowing that it was eating away at him, although she was rather baffled as to why he was seeking her out. Twice in one week, no less – surely he wasn't _that_ bored? If she hadn't known better, she might think he was interested in her.

That was ridiculous, though. He'd never made any secret of his voracious appetite for older women, even though he did tend to have younger girlfriends. He'd made his way through most of her sophomore class already, leaving a trail of tears and broken hearts in his wake. And anyway, he knew better than to test her – she had never fawned at his feet, and she never would.

She knew him too well for that, unless her best friend Jessica, who thought he was God incarnate.

"So I heard your daddy was taking you to France," he called out as he swam towards her.

"You heard wrong," she replied, rolling over onto her stomach. The only thing worse than a faded tan was an uneven one, and she wasn't going to let him distract her from her ultimate goal that afternoon.

She eyed him as he drew near to her, unable to stop herself from admiring his fine strokes. "We're going to Monte Carlo," she told him.

He appeared suitably impressed by that. "So Paris is too passé, eh?" he mused, not breaking his stride as he swam around the length of her raft.

She sighed. "Not exactly," she murmured. Her heart took a painful beat. She'd only been to Paris once, and that was before her mother had abandoned them. Now that she lived there, Lila had never had any compunction to go back.

It would be too awkward, and too painful.

Bruce surfaced behind her. "Oh, right," he said abruptly as he treaded water. "So it's the playground of the nouveau riche instead, huh? Why am I not surprised?"

Lila turned her head, narrowing her eyes as she regarded him from behind her sunglasses. "Why are you even here? I thought you'd be off on _your_ annual European tour by now."

He grinned. "Dad had some business to attend to," he replied with a shrug. "I think we're going to go before school starts again." He wrinkled his nose. "At least, I hope we are. I'm going to go crazy if I have to stick around _here_ all summer."

"Yes, however would you entertain yourself, without me around to annoy," Lila deadpanned.

He shrugged again. "Sometimes there's an advantage to having someone to be bored with," he noted with a sly smile.

"Well, _I_ won't be bored in Monte Carlo," she declared, flicking her silky brown hair off her shoulders.

"No," he agreed. "You'll be the most beautiful girl there."

She raised a brow. "Are you trying to flatter me?" she asked suspiciously. Bruce wasn't one to just hand out compliments – there was always some kind of string attached.

"Just stating a fact," he responded lightly. "Beautiful girls are never bored."

Lila's heart began to beat heavily in her chest as he leveled his icy blue gaze on hers. All this talk about being bored…was he trying to tell her something?

"Will I see you there?" she asked softly.

"In Monte Carlo? No chance," he laughed. "The Patman money is a couple hundred years too old to be considered nouveau riche, and I'm way too classy to slum it, even for you." He pushed his hands through his hair. "No, we're going to the Italian coast this year."

"Has Italy been warned?" she returned archly.

He gave her raft a playful shove in response, and she smiled to herself. Maybe he considered it gauche to be seen in Monte Carlo, but he wouldn't be _that_ far away if the Patmans were basing themselves on the Italian Riviera. In the end, it was all the same strip of sand, after all.

"At least I won't be making a fool of myself, panting away for some humdrum barely legitimate royalty," Bruce sneered, still treading water a couple feet away. "Face it, Lila – you aren't pretty enough to be the next Princess Grace; I hope you don't embarrass yourself chasing after a prince for a summer fling."

Lila lifted her brows; obviously her little remark had hit a nerve. "No, I suppose you'll just have to settle for striking out with the common people, as per usual," she shot back. "You talk a big game, Bruce Patman, but when was the last time you ever even _had_ a summer fling?"

He burst forward in response, rapidly closing the space between them, and reached out, unceremoniously pulling her into the pool, her raft helplessly flipping over on top of her.

She surfaced seconds later, gasping heavily, and shoved her sunglasses on top of her head, scraping the hair plastered against her face along with it. "What was that for?" she sputtered, wiping at her face with her free hand.

He closed his hand around her arm. "This," he replied roughly, capturing her mouth with his own.

This kiss caught her completely off guard; she yielded to him as her mind spun into oblivion, as she tried to process the fact that she was in the water instead of floating on the raft, the fact that they had just been exchanging insults and now they very much were not.

He let go of her hand, wrapping his arms around her instead, drawing her body flush to his. One kiss cascaded into another, and another, softening with each touch, his lips pliant yet firm as he nipped at the corners of her mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said lowly, her hands drifting around his shoulders of their own volition.

"I _think_ I'm kissing you," he replied cheekily, "although if you're not sure, then obviously I'm not doing something right." He grinned against her lips. "Let me try again."

She finally managed to put some space between them. "I'm serious, Patman," she said sharply. "Are you trying to start something? Because I'm telling you now, don't even _think_ about it."

"Geez, Lila, would you get a grip?" he implored, still holding her close. "We're just having a little fun."

"Relieving our mutual boredom, right?" she mocked, suddenly infuriated with the playful little smirk clinging to his lips. "Don't even think about playing me," she warned him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her, leaning into her and pressing his lips against hers – a bit harder this time; less playful, more insistent. "Believe me," he added, his voice suddenly raw, "if I wanted you, you'd know it."

He kissed her again, his hands sliding possessively down the planes of her back, over the curves of her hips, under the backs of her thighs. He parted her legs around himself, lifting her up until their bodies fit together perfectly, until she felt the heat and length of him rubbing against her.

Her heart leapt in her chest as she realized what was happening, as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, as she closed her arms around him, her hands twining into his hair. He wanted her, all right – but, interestingly enough, he was also fighting his attraction.

She felt flattered, but confused. Where had it come from? They'd known each other all their lives. And why here – why _now_? He hadn't shown the faintest flicker of interest before this summer. Hell, she wasn't sure that this even constituted interest now.

Their kisses had turned heavy and hard, with a little twist of spite. She could feel his restraint, and it electrified her, and intrigued her. Was he really interested in her, or just trying to goad her? Did he think he could have his way with her, or did he know that she would resist?

Did he realize that he'd ceded all of the power to her? Was he waiting to see what she'd do with it?

She felt the top of her suit slacken, the water cool as it swirled against her skin. He moaned deep in his throat as he touched her breast, flicking his thumb over her nipple. His mouth broke away from hers, and he nipped at her jaw, her neck, her shoulder as he fondled her.

She swiftly kneed him in the groin just as his head dipped into the water, and it was his turn to sputter incoherently as he doubled over in agony.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, pushing away from him as she re-tied her top. "You know better than that, Patman. My turf, my rules."

He shot her a murderous glare. "Don't play me, Fowler," he growled. " _You_ know better than that – I always get what I want."

She merely smirked at him as she brushed against the side of the pool. She reached back and hoisted herself out of the water, sitting down primly on the concrete skirt. "You're going to have to earn it this time," she informed him, leaning forward slightly, offering him a glimpse of what he'd tried to steal.

"We'll see about that," he snorted with derision, but he couldn't shield his desire completely, his eyes still trained to her chest.

She shrugged and stood up, lowering her sunglasses back into place as she moved over to her chair and picked up her towel. She couldn't resist shooting a coy glance at him over her shoulder. He'd managed to unfurl his body, and had set off into laps, swimming at a furious pace towards the deep end.

 _Maybe this summer won't be a complete bore after all_ , she mused as she toweled herself off, hiding a satisfied smile. _And maybe I'll have someone to hang out with, after all…_


	3. Rendezvous

**Title:** Rendezvous

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Fandom:** _Sweet Valley High_

 **Universe:** Pre-canon (sophomore year)

 **Genre:** Romance

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** 7,471

 **Summary:** "You really know how to treat a girl, you know that, Bruce?" Lila shuddered. "Remind me to never do you a favor again."

 _Author's note:_ Written for the 2016 Summer Mini Challenge prompt touch.

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Sweet Valley_ _High_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1983 – 2003 Francine Pascal/Bantam Books/Random House. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight Bruce Patman had ever seen.

He'd grown up in the lap of luxury, no stranger to the finer things in life. He was a sixth-generation multi-millionaire, and as such, he'd never wanted for anything. He had the best clothes, the best car, the best girlfriends, the best vacations. He'd already seen most of the world by the age of sixteen; Europe was practically his second summer home. He thought he'd seen it all – the lush greenery of Ireland, the magnificent Swiss alps, the dark forests in the heart of Germany.

And yet – this was a sight so beautiful that it took his breath away.

"Dad, look at this," he implored, gazing down over the slate blue water of the Mediterranean Sea. His heart started to beat a little faster as his eyes swept over the sheer expanse of it, the waves breaking gently as they lapped at the white-sand shore. "Isn't it amazing?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," his father mumbled, not bothering to look up from the leather-bound file of paperwork he held balanced on his lap. He frowned as he flipped through it, as if searching for a missing page.

Bruce rolled his eyes at his father's non-response, but his attention to the scene beyond his window never wavered. It was absolutely enchanting – not even the depressingly grey, cloud-filled sky took away from its absolute majesty. He leaned forward, pressing his head against the glass as his eyes devoured the sights below.

Yachts filled the port, clustered together between weather-beaten buildings rising high over the jagged cliffs. As the helicopter dipped closer to land, he could make out the terra cotta roofs of the residential neighborhoods, standing in stark contrast to the white exteriors of the high-rise buildings in the center of the city. In the midst of it all sat the crown jewel of the principality, the famous Monte Carlo casino, built like a palace, complete with gold-topped turrets.

"Wow," Bruce murmured to himself, his eyes greedily taking in every nook and cranny of the impressive architecture. It was an extraordinary sight, even for him, and he'd been inside more than his fair share of European castles.

"Dad," he mused aloud, "do you think we could stop by the casino on our way back to Genoa?"

"We won't have the time, son," he father replied, gathering his notes and putting them in order. He slammed his attaché closed as the helicopter prepared to land. "I have meetings all day, and you know your mother is expecting us back in time for dinner this evening." He slid a sidelong glance towards Bruce. "Besides, you're not old enough to gamble, not even here."

 _Like that's ever stopped me_ , Bruce thought to himself as he unstrapped his seatbelt. He pulled off his helmet and set it aside, brushing his hands through his hair. He'd be able to find a way in, if he really wanted to. It just depended on what else Monte Carlo could offer that would hold his attention for the better part of a day.

"Here," Bruce's father said, digging into the pocket of his Armani suit jacket as the Patmans stepped out of the helicopter. He handed his son his black AmEx. "Buy your mother a souvenir, would you?"

"Anything in particular?" Bruce asked, though he didn't hold out much hope for a hint. One of his father's assistants usually bought the gifts for his mother, precisely because his father didn't want to have to put much thought into it.

"Just find her something pretty," Mr. Patman advised with a dismissive wave. "Listen, I'll see you around six, Bruce. You can find your way back here, yes?" He didn't bother to wait for a response, sliding into the backseat of a limousine that took off almost as soon as he closed the door.

"Sure, Dad," Bruce murmured under his breath. He was well versed in finding his way around by himself in foreign countries; he'd been doing it long enough, at least.

He looked around the heliport and set off in the direction of the taxi stand. He could've taken the train – or hell, even walked – but he tried to avoid mass transportation as much as possible. He liked the VIP treatment, and he could certainly afford it, so why not?

He hired a towncar to take him into Monte Carlo, and spent the short ride trying to come up with an idea for his mother's gift. Jewelry was always a safe choice, but it was rather boring. What else might she like? What would she enjoy receiving as a gift from her husband?

Bruce frowned. He could barely pick out decent gifts as a son, and he'd never been a husband before, so he had no idea what might appeal to a wife. Most of his girlfriends were happy to have a bit of his time, and he'd never given any of them more than a lavish bouquet of flowers. Being with him was a gift in and of itself, so far as he was concerned, so obviously his own experience wasn't going to help him in this case.

He had the driver drop him off in the middle of the shopping district, and after taking a long look around but finding nothing particularly interesting, reluctantly went off in search of a jewelry store. Better to go with the safe choice when otherwise uninspired, he decided. Besides, it might be a lark to see what so impressed the nouveau riche these days.

He cast a doubtful eye towards the sky as he window shopped. The clouds had only increased, darkening in color and menacing with the threat of rain. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he studied a display of summer-themed jewelry. Jade and aquamarine stones sparkled in their platinum settings, but Bruce found himself singularly unmoved by any of it. His mother preferred diamonds – the rarer, the better. Semi-precious stones would seem like an insult.

He sighed, moving on to the next store, hugging himself against the chill of the breeze blowing in off the water. He caught a glimpse of the patrons inside the shop and frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. Statuesque women were draped around men of all shapes and sizes, alternatively throwing back their heads in feigned peals of laughter and huddling close to the counters, scrutinizing whatever trinkets their paramours had pulled from the cases for their perusal.

Bruce sneered at the sight and swiftly moved on. He didn't have any personal experience in dealing with gold-diggers, but he could already spot them from a mile away. He'd been on the Italian Riviera for all of a week now, and the only women who'd bothered to pay attention to him so far were the desperate ones, who could somehow see past his amazing looks and winning personality to the enormous trust fund he was sitting on.

He had no use for these kinds of women; he didn't want to be with someone who was only impressed by his money. He needed some substance beyond that veneer of style, but the girls who possessed those qualities wouldn't give him a second glance. Instead, they were too busy flitting around the likes of Tisiano de Mondicci – European playboys with nothing _but_ their fortunes on offer.

It was the main reason why he'd decided to tag along with his father today. He had no interest in the business meetings that had brought them to Monaco, but every interest in getting away from the beautiful women who had dismissed him out of hand. His ego could only handle so much rejection, after all – he was _very_ much used to getting his way.

In Monte Carlo, he could be anonymous. He wouldn't stand out among the crowd here; there were plenty of people in the principality who were ten times as rich as he was, and the expert-level fortune hunters would spare no interest in him. Here, he could remove himself from the competition and concentrate on perfecting a strategy targeted at landing those elusive women who actually were worthy of his time and attention.

He had no idea what made him look up at that moment, but when he did, he stopped abruptly in his tracks.

"Well, well, well," he murmured to himself, a sly smile curling the corners of his lips. "What do we have here?"

He'd forgotten that Lila had bragged about her daddy bringing her to Monte Carlo on vacation, but there she was, not fifty feet away from him. She was staring rather intently at a display in a shop window and toying with a lock of her hair, wrapping the end around her index finger and giving it a little tug.

Bruce fisted his hands in his pockets, resisting the sudden urge he had to yank at her hair himself. It wouldn't even begin to satisfy the need for revenge he'd been nursing ever since she'd kneed him in the groin during their last, rather passionate encounter, but it would be a nice start. It irked him immensely that she was the last girl he'd kissed – not only because it was _her_ , the daughter of his father's biggest business rival, but because it had happened nearly a month ago. His main mission during his visit to the Italian coast this summer was to be with as many women as it took to get over that encounter with Lila Fowler. A month should've been plenty of time, but no.

Here he stood, wanting nothing more than to pull her hair until she begged him to stop.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his eyes slid down the length of her. She was wearing a strategically placed yellow sundress, one that showed off her bronzed shoulders and arms and made her legs looks about five miles long. She wore her hair loose, flowing over her back in soft waves. She tossed the piece she'd been playing with over her shoulder and moved on, walking further down the sidewalk, away from him.

He swallowed hard as he watched the sway of her hips and the way her gauzy skirt moved against her thighs. Lila was one of the few people in Sweet Valley who could truly understand what it was like to come from the sort of money that he did. Her father was a self-made millionaire, having made his fortune in the burgeoning software industry, and he showered his only child with the sort of lavish gifts that made most of their classmates at Sweet Valley High green with envy. Only he knew the truth of what it was like to have a father who gave everything except his time and attention, who figured that money could buy his children happiness – or at least stop them from whining too much.

He'd always appreciated sharing that commonality with Lila, even though he'd never really liked her all that much. Their fathers loathed one another and were constantly taking sides against each other when it came to all the major town issues. The Patmans fought fiercely to protect their cannery interests on the coast, while George Fowler would just as happily ring the town with skyscrapers – and all of the pollution that came with them. Their mutual disinterest had trickled down to the next generation; Bruce thought Lila rather desperate and gauche, while she found him unbearably snobbish and arrogant.

No, it wasn't until a couple of months ago that he'd started thinking of her as something other than an enemy, and his opinion had changed for perhaps the shallowest of reasons. She had always been considered good-looking – rich people often are, whether they are actually photogenic or not – but at some point between her freshman and sophomore year of high school, she had blossomed into a stunning beauty. She was, without a doubt, one of the prettiest girls in Sweet Valley, and as such, she occupied a growing spot on his romantic radar. Which was all well and good, except for one major problem: his usual tactics wouldn't work on her – she was not impressed by his looks, or his athletic ability, or his money and its accompanying social prowess.

Actually, he liked that about her. While it was fun having girls constantly fawning over him, it was also a little boring. Where was the challenge? He enjoyed being spoiled for choice, but he also had a fondness for the pursuit of certain pleasures. He liked it when girls played hard to get, and that was the epitome of Lila's game. She was sexy and clever and confident, and had made it well known – through word _and_ deed – that she would never fall at any man's feet. Her reputation as the queen of flings largely proceeded her; she made a habit of discarding boyfriends long before they even thought of losing interest of her.

Their track record, at least, had that much in common. Bruce laughed at the idea of falling in love, or of tying himself to a single girl – he was much more interested in conquests. From what he knew of Lila, she was much of the same mind. It was what made them perfect for each other. Well, that, and her sharp tongue, and rapier wit, and incredible body…

Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself closing the space between them, relishing the sight of her as he steadied his approach. "We really have to stop meeting like this," he drawled as he came to a stop beside her.

She glanced over at him sharply, surprise flitting across her face as she took in his sudden appearance, but she quickly schooled her features into a distinctly unimpressed expression. "Whatever happened to, 'Oh, no, I wouldn't be caught _dead_ in the playground of the nouveau riche'?" she asked by way of greeting, folding her arms across her chest as she awaited his response.

He grinned wolfishly at her. "My father had to fly in for business meetings, so I decided to tag along," he explained, taking great mirth in the way she rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

"Still trying to alleviate that boredom of yours?" she mused, turning her attention back to the window display she'd been contemplating before he'd so rudely interrupted her. "Maybe you should get that checked out by a professional."

"I'd much rather spend my time with you," he responded.

"Oh?" She tilted her head as she gazed at the array of colorful silk scarves in front of her. "What happened to all of those fabulous Italian women you were boasting about?"

Bruce shrugged. "I decided to give them a break," he said. "After all, it takes a strong woman to handle the Patman charm."

"The stench of it, you mean?" Lila mumbled under her breath, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She tried to hide her accompanying smile, but he spotted it anyway, and it pleased him immensely.

It was nice to know that she enjoyed their prickly sparring almost as much as he did.

"So how'd you find me, anyway?" she queried after a long moment as she continued along the sidewalk, having decided that the scarves were not worth further interest.

"I took a wild guess," he teased as he followed her to the next storefront, this one offering handwoven hats and baskets. "I thought to myself, what would Lila Fowler be doing on such a cold and windy day in paradise? And, if not spending the day curled up in misery because I wasn't around to entertain her" – she scoffed at that – "then I figured she'd be doing what she does best: shopping."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Okay, I'll buy that. So tell me, what are _you_ doing here? Surely you didn't come all this way just to 'entertain' me."

"Indeed, not," he replied. "Actually, I'd completely forgotten you were in Monaco, or else I would've stayed far, _far_ away. But since I'm here…" He offered a shrug, as if he'd had no choice in the matter, "I've been tasked with finding a present for my mother."

Lila rolled her eyes again. "And just what do you get for the woman who has everything?" she pondered sarcastically.

"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "Got any tips?"

She sent him a nasty look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing as her nostrils flared in annoyance. "No," she bit off.

Bruce smirked. "Then obviously I'm doomed."

She huffed away without another word, but he was able to catch up with her easily. Just as he opened his mouth to antagonize her further, she cut him off at the pass. "I am _not_ like your mother, you know," she informed him haughtily. "For one thing, I wouldn't have the patience to deal with my man's wandering eye."

Bruce lifted his brows. She thought his father was having an affair? And when, exactly, was he supposed to have time for that? "Look, just because _your_ father doesn't have any scruples doesn't mean that _mine_ doesn't," he sneered. "My father's business trips are just that: _business_ trips. You really think he'd let me tag along if he was off to meet his mistress?"

"It would be the perfect cover," she remarked, the bitterness of her tone making Bruce realize that maybe she had been used for such a reason, once upon a time. He felt a rush of anger on her behalf, but also pity. Nobody deserved to be treated that way, not even Lila.

"And it would make sense," she continued, "if he sent you off to buy a gift for your mother. That way, he'd get you out of his hair, and assuage his guilt at the same time."

That little statement gave Bruce pause. Lila's mother had abandoned her family ages ago, so he knew she'd never been sent on such a mission herself. So what was she hinting at?

"My father loves my mother," he informed her.

"And your mother loves his money," Lila cut in, turning to face him, and to watch as her nasty accusation sank in.

Bruce opened his mouth to defend his mother's honor, but then promptly closed it. Lila knew better than to insult his mother to his face, and she probably also knew that it was his mother's family's inherited wealth that supplied the majority of his trust fund, because Marie Patman was not exactly modesty personified.

So what was Lila really trying to say?

And then it dawned on him: nothing. She was trying to bait him into an argument so he'd leave her alone.

"Nice try, Lila Fowler," he declared, crossing his arms over his chest, "but you're not going to get rid of me that easily." He had to give her some credit, albeit grudgingly – she'd really had him going there for a minute.

She rolled her eyes. "Perish the thought," she grumbled sarcastically. She turned away from him, but he caught her arm before she could walk away. She glanced back at him questioningly, and his mind whirred into overdrive.

"Listen," he said abruptly, "you enjoy playing pretend, don't you?"

"What?" she sputtered, wrenching out of his grasp. She planted a hand on her hip, her glare defiant and accusatory. "What are you talking about?"

 _You're not the only one who can bait a hook_ , he thought as he gazed at her, trying not to notice the way her skirt had hitched up under the ball of her fist. "It's a simple enough question," he went on, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You obviously have quite the imagination – I can't believe that you don't enjoy putting it to good use."

She frowned, her eyes taking on a suspicious cast. "If this is some ploy to get me to help you find a gift for your mother…"

He feigned complete innocence.

She heaved a great sigh. "I would have to pretend pretty hard to find something likable about your mother," she grumbled.

He grinned at her. "I think it's safe to say that feeling's probably mutual," he agreed cheerfully.

"You're such a charmer," she deadpanned. She folded her other hand against her hip, her shopping bags dangling at her wrist.

He was valiant in his attempt to hold her gaze, instead of letting his eyes slide down to her long, tanned legs, and he lifted a brow at her, as if in challenge. _Are you going to rise to my bait, Lila Fowler?_ he taunted silently _, and admit to yourself that you want to spend time with me, even if it's ostensibly to help someone you loathe?_

"If I help you with this," she hedged, "what's in it for me?"

He swallowed his triumphant grin as he pretended to give her question a great deal of thought. "My undying gratitude?" he suggested.

She snorted. "Oh, please. How about offering a reward that's actually worthy of me?"

It was his turn to narrow his gaze suspiciously at her. "And just what did you have in mind?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea.

She tilted her head slightly, her silky brown hair gliding invitingly over her shoulder as she contemplated his question for a long, drawn-out moment. "What color is the credit card your daddy gave you?"

He scowled. Of course she'd want something tangible out of this deal. How uncouth. "Black," he conceded.

"Ah, yes – the color of prestige," she mused, her eyes lighting up as the corners of her lips curled into a Cheshire cat-like smile. "And wouldn't you know, it's accepted at all the finest jewelers in this country. Don't worry," she assured him, giving him a patronizing pat on the shoulder, "I'm sure you'll think of _some_ way to properly compensate my time and attention, _if_ I agree to help you."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes at her. Only someone as gauche as Lila Fowler would demand payment in kind for helping a guy out with a simple task. _Well_ , he decided, right then and there, _if she's going to profit handsomely from this deal, then I'm going to get something out of it, too._

He hooded his eyes. " _If_ you agree to help me, and _if_ it's going to require us to play pretend, then why don't we just go all the way?"

She lifted a sardonic brow. "And do what?" she scoffed. "Pretend to like each other?"

He granted her a slow, sly smile. "Yes, let's try that," he agreed, reaching out and clasping one of her hands into his own. A delicious, positively electric curl of heat drifted up the length of his arm as he laced his fingers with hers, and judging by her reaction, she'd felt it, too. "After all, it would look pretty strange, wouldn't it, giving a gift to someone I so obviously loathed with every fiber of my being?"

He stepped closer to her, and she swallowed hard, inadvertently squeezing his hand, sending a fiery jolt straight to his groin. "How's your French?" she inquired softly as he loomed over her.

"Hmm?" he mused, his gaze falling to her lips. Her full, pouty lips, the color of ripe strawberries, lush and ripe and ready to be picked…

" _Vous êtes un âne pompeux_ ," she murmured, giving his hand another, rather more painful, squeeze.

It took a minute for her words to penetrate the haze of his muddled thinking, but when they did, he had a ready response. " _Et voilà pourquoi vous me aimez,_ " he replied with a sultry smile.

She suppressed her own smile. " _Touché_ ," she declared wryly, take a large step backwards and restoring the space between them.

They stared at each other for a long moment, still clasping hands, and Bruce's sense of triumph started to fade. The breeze picked up, causing her hair – and her skirt – to flutter, and he felt a sudden longing to pull her close and wrap his arms around her, to feel the warmth of her body next to his own.

 _Maybe this won't be so bad_ , he considered silently, cupping his palm with hers.

"Well, let's get this over with," she sighed glumly, looking for all the world as if she was being taken to her execution.

"Geez, Lila, don't get too enthusiastic about this," he joked as they set off. "I wouldn't want you to pull a muscle or anything."

She yanked hard on his hand, giving his arm a cruel little twist, sending a streak of white hot pain blazing past his elbow and straight up to his shoulder.

"Hey, I serve with this arm!" he yelped, more from surprise than actual pain, though he couldn't help but notice that she had gleaned quite a bit of pleasure from his outcry.

"Then I suggest you watch what you say," she returned blithely, not bothering to look at him when she responded – or to hide her self-satisfied smile.

.xxxxx.

The two walked in silence to the end of the high street. Lila seemed to know where she was going, so Bruce was happy to let her lead the way. As long as she wasn't headed straight for the royal palace, she wouldn't find a place so expensive that his father would balk when he saw the bill.

Rain began to fall just as they reached their destination; they pushed their way rather unceremoniously through a set of heavy glass doors at an impressive façade anchored at the busiest intersection in town.

One glimpse of the stylish clientele suddenly surrounding them – not to mention the discreetly placed security guards who mingled among the crowd – told Bruce all he needed to know about the exclusivity of this highly elite shop.

Lila kept firm hold of his hand as they threaded their way around the room, stopping to look over the simple yet elegantly curated exhibitions of high jewelry. It was all Bruce could do not to openly gawk at the finery on display: everything from diamond-cut bracelets to pearl-drop earrings to necklaces and rings dripping with rubies and sapphires.

It was all absolutely exquisite – and little overwhelming. He wouldn't even know where to begin.

He felt, more than heard, Lila's sharp intake of breath as she tugged him towards one display in particular. "Oh, Pierre, isn't this stunning?" she breathed, lapsing into French as she leaned over a glass case and pointed at a striking diamond and emerald necklace, set in platinum.

"' _Pierre'_?" Bruce hissed incredulously into her ear, only to feel her hand rise to the crook of his arm in response, followed by her elbow stabbing him sharply in the ribs.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a salesman making his way over to them; he was caught even more off guard with Lila's next dramatic pronouncement: "This necklace would be the perfect gift for your mother, don't you think?"

The salesman stopped short. " _Mère_?" he stuttered in surprise, before carefully reassembling his cool, poised countenance.

Lila nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes," she babbled in French, "we are breaking the news of our engagement to my dear Pierre's mother, and we are hoping that the perfect gift will help soften the blow." She schooled her features into a humbled expression. "You see, he is all that she has left in this world, and she isn't ready to lose him, especially not to me," she added, flushing prettily as she averted her eyes.

 _Well played_ , Bruce thought, thoroughly amused as the salesman gave him an indulgent look. _My mother would fall over if she heard that a Fowler was marrying into her family._

"It's true," Bruce confirmed, his French a bit more faulty than Lila's. "My mother is very special to me," he continued, turning to Lila with a theatrically loving look, "but I love this woman more than life itself, and I cannot wait to make her my wife."

Was it his imagination, or had she paled at that?

He covered her hand, still lodged in the crook of his arm, and pressed a little kiss to her temple, just for effect.

"Ah, young love," the salesman sighed, clasping his hands together. "Well. Let us see what we can find for your _maman_ , then, _monsieur_."

"I like this one," Lila reiterated, pointing to the diamond and emerald necklace. She turned to Bruce. "What do you think, darling?"

Bruce studied the piece for a long moment. "It's nice," he contended, "but I'm not sure it's my mother's taste, so much as yours, dearest."

Lila narrowed her eyes, giving him arm a sharp tug. "I have better taste than that," she mumbled in English under breath, before offering a sickly sweet smile to the salesman. "What do you think?" she asked, switching back to French.

"I think it is a beautiful piece," the salesman agreed, reaching down to unlock the display case. "Perhaps if you tried it on, _mademoiselle_ , we could convince your Pierre of its beauty."

He pulled the necklace from the case, the diamonds glittering under the high-set lights of the shop. Lila reached out to touch it with her free hand, and Bruce noticed her diamond tennis bracelet as it pooled on her wrist. The salesman noticed it too, giving him an approving nod over Lila's bowed head.

The salesman lifted the necklace from its velvet perch. "Try it on," he urged Lila, opening the clasp. "May I help you?"

Lila reluctantly let Bruce go, quickly tucking her right hand into a pocket of her dress, and stepped around the glass case, lifting her hair from her neck as the salesman slid the necklace into place and secured it at her nape.

"Ahhh," he sighed as his hands fell away. " _Magnifique_." He glanced up and caught Bruce's eye. "Do you not agree, _monsieur_?"

Lila turned to face him, her hair falling back into place like strands of silk around her shoulders, and Bruce momentarily forgot how to breathe. Square-cut diamonds alternated with pairs of teardrop-shaped emeralds, arranged in figure eights between the diamond stations, gleaming in their platinum setting against her golden skin. It lay perfectly on her décolletage, forming a perfect circle around her collarbone, drawing his attention to the soft lines of her throat, making his fingertips tingle with the anticipation of touch.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, finally finding his voice again. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, taking a step closer to her and twining his fingers through her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. "Just like you, Isabella."

"Ah, your fiancée is aptly named," the salesman mused admiringly.

Bruce scarcely heard him; he was more interested in Lila's response to his compliment, a soft smile as she reverently touched the jewels nestled at her throat. His eyes didn't leave hers as he curled his hand delicately around her neck, drawing his thumb down the line of her jaw. He felt her skin heat beneath his touch, and the slight dip of her chin as he traced her lower lip, and suddenly none of this felt like pretend anymore.

"I don't know if I can give this to my mother," Bruce murmured. "It looks as if it was made just for you."

"She'll love it," Lila insisted as he caressed her cheek again. "Any woman would be honored to receive this, especially as a gift."

"Your lovely Isabella makes a good point," the salesman interjected. "It is a piece fit for a queen, and such a stunning gift that there is no way she could ever object to your engagement."

"You don't know my mother," Bruce said ruefully as his hand drifted away from Lila's face. "She can be very stubborn." He clasped her bronzed shoulder for a long moment before brushing her hair away and lifting the chain from her neck, running his fingers along the edge of the glittering stones. He was surprised by the weight of the piece, the heaviness of the jewels and the platinum, warmed by her skin.

"It might be just enough to convince her," Lila insisted softly, her hand rising to meet his. She curled her fingers around his and gently moved his hand away. "After all, it would be obvious that this was given as a gift of love."

Bruce considered her words, and the way she laced her fingers through his, and acquiesced with a shrug and a knowing smile. "All right, we'll take it."

"Splendid!" the salesman chirped, closing in on the two of them and whisking the necklace away.

It was enough to break the spell; Lila's hand went limp in his, but she wasn't quite able to close off her dreamy expression as she averted her eyes. He saw a trace of sadness in the lines of her features, and felt the echo of it in his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pressed another little kiss against her temple. No doubt it appeared to be a loving gesture, even if he intended for it to be comforting instead.

" _Monsieur_ , a moment?" the salesman suggested, bringing Bruce's attention to the fact that he'd boxed up the necklace. He reluctantly let Lila go and followed the salesman to the counter at the far end of the shop.

" _Monsieur_ , this is a lovely purchase," the salesman said as Bruce produced his father's black AmEx for payment. "Incidentally, there is a matching bracelet in this suite – perhaps a gift for your lovely Isabella?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, thank you," he demurred, "although I would like to buy her something – a thank you gift, if you will. She really doesn't get along with my mother," he hastened to add when he caught the salesman's perplexed expression, "and I practically had to beg for her help today."

"Ah," the salesman intoned knowingly. "Say no more. What is her favorite stone?"

Bruce glanced back swiftly, locating Lila in front of a far display, and he took note of what had caught her attention so raptly.

He turned back to the clerk. "What do you have in sapphire solitaires, set in gold?"

.xxxxx.

The rain was pouring down in sheets when the two finally left from the jewelry shop. They darted down the sidewalk to a small café, where they had a long, leisurely lunch, during which they traded biting commentary about the people who passed by their window, and teased each other about their character-acting in the course of purchasing the necklace. When Lila threatened to buy him a baguette and beret to complete his transformation into her ideal French fiancé, Bruce convinced her to take in an art film at the Cinéma d'Hiver instead, by reminding her that class was permanent, whereas fashion was not.

When they emerged from the theater two and a half hours later, Bruce found himself wondering if being converted into a bad French stereotype would've been a more interesting use of his time. The only film running that afternoon turned out to be a compilation of twenty-three seven minute shorts, with topics ranging from old men dancing around completely naked, save for truly garish masks; to twelve angry men yelling at each other about God and eating graham crackers; to one woman watching all of her lovers die in rapid succession, as she aged seventy years in less than ten minutes.

The only redeeming part of it was a section in the middle, where two young lovers clung to each other in the midst of a raging storm, professing their undying love even as they sank to the bottom of the sea – and the only reason that one was bearable was because Lila had slipped her hand into his and rested her head on his shoulder.

Their moment was lost, however, when the next short started, showing a man in a straitjacket ranting and raving at the top of his lungs as the camera slowly pulled away, ultimately revealing that he was locked in solitary confinement in an isolated wing of a Soviet-era hospital, with no one around to hear his screams.

The rain had stopped by the time their bizarre afternoon experience was over, though the cool breeze continued to whip in off the sea. The two stood huddled together near the building, after Bruce had called for a car to take him to the heliport.

"You really know how to treat a girl, you know that, Bruce?" Lila groused, her teeth chattering. "First you trick me into helping you buy your mother a present, and then, as a reward, you take me to some weird French film that, in spite of its weirdness, still managed to bore me to death." She shuddered. "Remind me to never do you a favor again."

Bruce gave her a curious look. "What makes you think that was your reward?" he asked, jutting his thumb back towards the building. " _That_ was just something to do to stay in out of the rain. If I had known how strange it was going to be, I would've let you buy me a beret instead."

Lila smiled, almost in spite of herself. "There's still time to transform you into the suave and sophisticated Pierre," she teased.

Bruce shook his head as he checked his watch. "Nah, I've got to meet my dad at the heliport," he replied. "His meetings ran until six, and my mother is expecting us back in time for dinner."

The mirth drained from her expression. "Right," she nodded, averting her eyes. She looked up sharply. "What a minute, did you say six?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, what of it?"

Lila's lips twisted into a sardonic sneer. "I wonder if our fathers were at the same meetings today," she mused.

Bruce lifted his brows as he gazed back at the city center. "I don't think so," he concluded after a moment, turning back to face his companion. "I think we would've noticed that mushroom cloud."

"I'm shocked," she remarked dryly. "Sweet Valley is barely big enough for the both of them – how in the world did they manage to conduct business in a country less than half that size without civil war erupting?"

Bruce grinned. "I guess wonders will never cease," he returned. "Maybe they figured out a way to divvy Europe up without stepping on each other's toes."

Lila snorted in response. "If only we could have the same luck back home," she intoned.

Bruce's hired towncar pulled up just then, gliding to a smooth stop in front of them. The driver quickly jumped out, moving around to the passenger's side and proffering the rear door.

Lila and Bruce looked at one another.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Lila said, shifting her shopping bags from one arm to the other.

He touched her elbow. "It doesn't have to be," he replied, "especially since we still have that little matter of a reward to settle."

She furrowed her brow as she looked at him. "You mean – the weird French art film wasn't it?"

He flashed his trademark brilliant smile. "C'mon, Lila," he cajoled, "you know me better than that." He gestured to the opened door of the car. "Besides, this isn't just for me – the driver's going to take you home as well."

She cast a curious glance at the driver, who nodded in confirmation. "I'll just need your address, _mademoiselle_."

Bruce waited as Lila dug into her purse, eventually producing a card with the address of her father's villa on it, which she handled to the driver. While he looked it over, Bruce Lila's hand and pulled her into the car beside him, sliding across the supple leather and giving her room to settle her shopping bags at her feet.

The two shivered with delight to be shielded from the cold, salty sea breeze, and settled comfortably in the back of the spacious car. Within minutes, they were on the road to the heliport, the luxurious beauty of Monte Carlo fading into the distance.

Bruce reached into his bag from the jewelry store, pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped package, and handed it to Lila.

She gave him a dubious look. "What's this?" she questioned, holding the edge of the box as if it was going to spontaneously burst into flames.

"Your reward," he replied simply.

She glanced from him, to the gift, and back at him again. "Is this a trick?"

"Now, now," Bruce said softly, making a great show of tucking a lock of hair behind Lila's ear, "do you really think Pierre would try to trick his darling Isabella, on the eve of their engagement?"

Lila's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Your mother would have a cow if we ever got engaged," she laughed.

He grinned. "I think we decided that Pierre's would, too," he reminded her. "We have that much in common, ol' Pierre and me."

Lila carefully unwrapped the present, sliding the ribbon from the box and unfolding the gilt-edged wrapping paper. She opened the black velvet box inside and took in a sharp breath, her eyes growing wide as she stared at her gift. "That's not the only thing you have in common," she sputtered after a moment of stunned silence, tracing the crest of the heart-shaped sapphire solitaire pendant, set in yellow gold and nestled in the midst of a delicate gold rope chain. "You both have great taste, too."

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his. "Thank you," she said, leaving him without a doubt as to the sincerity of her words.

"You're welcome," he responded, brushing her hair away from her brow. "You should try it on," he added. "Here, let me help you."

He took the pendant from the box, unfurling the chain and opening the clasp, and leaned forward, draping it around her neck as she lifted her hair out of the way. His hands lingered longer than was strictly necessary to secure the clasp, and he relished the brush of her silky hair on his fingers when she released it to fall back over her shoulders.

The pendant lay perfectly on her tanned skin, the point of the heart sliding suggestively towards her cleavage. He swallowed hard, suddenly becoming very aware of the way his heart was beating against his ribs, and, with monumental effort, lifted his eyes to her face. Her expression was unreadable, but the look in her eyes was warm and inviting.

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as their gazes met. Wordlessly, he touched her face, sliding his thumb over the crest of her cheek, his fingers sinking into the lush curtain of her hair. His eyes fell closed when he felt the touch of her lips on his, so warm and soft and sweet.

It was a kiss unlike any other he'd ever shared with her. He felt it not only in the core of his being, but also in the center of his chest, and as a warm rush of satisfaction streaming from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He became hyperaware of everything, from the softness of her skin, to the faint lemon fragrance of her hair, to the warm rush of her breath across his lips as one kiss slowly cascaded into another, and then another.

It was the first time he'd ever kissed anyone without the edge of lust or urgency or desperation, without the driving need to best – or break – his partner. It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation, and perhaps most amazingly of all, it was completely satisfying. He felt like he could kiss her like this for hours.

He was so lost in his exploration of this heretofore unknown feeling that he didn't realize that the car had come to a stop, nor that the driver had opened the door; only when Lila gently pushed him away, breaking the heady spell and bringing him crashing back down to reality, did he remember where he was.

With great reluctance, he managed to disengage himself from her, to find the bag from the jewelry shop amongst the plethora at her feet. He stepped out of the car, but couldn't resist leaning back in, stealing another lingering kiss. "Until we meet again," he promised softly, clasping her hand in one final caress.

He pulled himself together as best he could as he walked across the tarmac to the waiting helicopter, but he couldn't quite hide his dreamy, far away expression. His father chuckled as he climbed into the helicopter and busied himself with fastening the seatbelt. "Did you enjoy your day in Monte Carlo?" he asked indulgently.

Bruce donned his headgear, thankful to have the chance to shield his eyes from his father's curious scrutiny. "Immensely," he replied, handing over the bag containing his mother's gift – and his father's credit card. "And you're welcome."


	4. Cruel Summer

**Title:** Cruel Summer

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Fandom:** _Sweet Valley High_

 **Universe:** Early canon (SVH #2, _Secrets_ )

 **Genre:** Angst, Romance

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** 2,881

 **Summary:** Bruce Patman was truly the last person she wanted to see, especially at that very moment.

 _Author's note:_ Written for the 2016 Summer Mini Challenge prompt gently.

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Sweet Valley_ _High_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1983 – 2003 Francine Pascal/Bantam Books/Random House. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

Lila stumbled as she made her way to the phone booth, silently cursing herself for wearing her nicest, highest black heels on this date. All of her careful preparation turned out to be in vain; the final indignity had been making a less than graceful exit when the time came.

She stepped into the booth, digging a quarter out of her purse and slotting it into the phone. She gave the receiver a dubious look before picking it up and putting it resolutely to her ear. She punched in number she'd memorized long ago, and tapped her foot as she listened to the line attempting to connect. _Please pick up_ , she pleaded, trying to send out a telepathic message of her distress.

"Hello?" A cheerful, high-pitched voice answered the phone, and Lila groaned inwardly. She was hoping to catch him personally and bypass having to talk to his mother, but obviously all of her luck had deserted her this evening.

"Hi, Mrs. Matthews, this is Lila," she replied, schooling her features into a patient look and hoping it carried over in her tone of voice. "Is Ken there?"

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, but he's not. He's still at his tutoring session with Ms. Dalton," Mrs. Matthews informed her. "It's so nice of her to meet with him on Saturday evenings, don't you think? He has football practice every day of the week, and then of course the games on Friday, so this is the only time they can get together," she prattled on.

Lila made a face. _Yes, so nice of her_ , she thought sourly. _She tutors Ken in the early evening, and then hits up my father for a late-night date afterwards – a regular Working Girl._

"Mrs. Matthews, when will he be back?" Lila cut in, not caring to hear anyone else sing Nora Dalton's praises, especially at that particular moment.

"Oh, not for a while, I'm afraid," she chattered. "The midterm is coming up, and he's been having a lot of trouble with these irregular verb conjugations." She paused. "Can I give him a message? Let him know that you want a call back?"

"No, that's okay," Lila sighed, digging the heel of her stiletto into the crumbling concrete. "Thanks anyway."

"Of course, dear. Have a good evening." Mrs. Matthews hung up, but Lila kept hold of the phone on her end, listening to the beeps of the dial tone for a long moment before replacing the receiver.

 _This is just great_ , she groused, crossing her arms over her chest. _Now what am I going to do? Daddy's out of town on a business trip, my car's in the shop, and the only person I dare to call for a ride home is out "studying" with Nora fucking Dalton._

She stamped her foot in a fit of pique. She should've known better than to accept a date with Blair Worthington. The son of one of her father's business partners, they'd originally met at the racquet club for lunch the week before. She thought him cute enough, with sun-streaked blonde hair, dashing green eyes, and a tan nearly as golden as her own, but he'd spent most of the meal talking about himself, which she found incredibly boring. He was a freshman at Sweet Valley College, planning to major in business, and thought economics was the most interesting subject on the planet.

Still, she couldn't resist when he invited her to the Sigma fall formal. If nothing else, being his date would get her in the door, and she could meet some far more eligible dating prospects among his fraternity brothers.

Too bad it hadn't actually turned out that way. They'd arrived at the dance in style, gliding into the parking lot in his father's Jaguar, but Blair had turned into a stage-five clinger the moment they stepped foot in the Sigma house. She couldn't shake him off, and he insisted on dragging her around and introducing her to the nerdiest of his frat brothers. When she attempted to escape in order to find the ladies' room, he'd grabbed her arm, and that had been the end of that.

It turned into a big, dramatic scene, and she'd stormed off in a huff. Surprisingly, nobody rushed to her rescue, so she set off towards campus, determined to find some other way home.

Only – when her father was out of town, he gave the chauffeur time off work. Her lime green Triumph was in the shop for a tune-up. All of her girlfriends had dates that evening, and the only person should thought she could rely on was tied up in a tutoring session with a woman she loathed.

Lila stepped out of the phone booth and peered down the main road that ran through the SVC campus. Despite the moniker, the college was a good hour away from town. She wouldn't have made it on foot even if she wasn't wearing her come-and-get-me turned stilettos-of-death heels.

Her shoulders fell, and a tear slipped down her cheek. _Now_ what was she going to do?

"Lila?" called out an incredulous voice. "Is that you?"

She looked up, then quickly turned away, stumbling yet again as she attempted to escape for the second time that evening.

Bruce Patman was truly the last person she wanted to see, especially at that very moment.

Her rotten luck didn't miraculously change, however, and he easily caught up with her. "Lila?" he tried again, touching her shoulder and drawing her to a halt. "What are you doing here?"

She wrenched out of his hold. "Go away," she returned coldly, wrapping her arms around herself as she glared at him.

"And leave you stranded in the middle of campus?" he drawled. "I don't think so."

Lila glanced around; the center of campus was deserted, save the two of them. A bitter smile twisted the corners of her mouth. "Oh, so I'm only good enough to acknowledge when nobody else is around?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

Her glare turned murderous. "I haven't heard from you since Monaco," she ground out, swiping at the angry tears that continued to fall unabated. She hated herself for crying in front of him, especially now.

He had the sheer temerity to reach out to her, brushing his fingers through her hair in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture. "That doesn't explain why you're crying now," he said softly.

She batted his hand away. "Leave me alone," she grumbled, pulling a tissue from her purse and dabbing it at her eyes. Great, now her mascara was running – she was really batting a thousand this evening.

Bruce huffed an annoyed sigh. "Geez, Lila, get a grip, would you? I'm _trying_ to do the right thing here, which isn't easy, considering – " He abruptly clamped his mouth shut, his words dying in a curious strangle in the back of his throat.

Lila couldn't help shooting an inquisitive glance in his direction. "Considering what?" she prompted, amused to see an annoyed flush rising up from the back of his neck. "Are you trying to tell me that the almighty Bruce Patman got ditched?"

" _No_ ," he bristled, adding with a sniff, "more like, _I_ ditched the most boring party I've ever been to. Theta sisters just aren't what they used to be."

"Uh-huh," Lila intoned, smiling wryly. Considering his bluster, she was willing to wager that he'd taken one girl to the party, and then spent the entire time he was there chatting up another. She thought she'd seen Susan Gullick sniffing around him at the country club one afternoon – plain, plump, and painfully boring, but a legacy Theta with a father richer than Croesus.

"Look, there's no other action around here," Brice said, gesturing to the deserted campus, "so I'm heading back to Sweet Valley. Can I give you a lift?"

Lila cast a long look around one last time, fervently wishing for another white knight to suddenly materialize, maybe one whose armor was more shiny than tarnished. Unfortunately, luck still wasn't on her side.

She sighed. "I guess," she agreed reluctantly, falling into step with him as they made their way towards the campus parking lot. As they walked, she made herself a silent promise: _Next time, I'm stealing my date's keys_.

.xxxxx.

The two rode in silence back to Sweet Valley. Lila had kicked off her heels the second she settled in Bruce's car, and she gathered them in her lap now, toying with the straps as she looked out the window. There wasn't much in the way of scenery between the town and the college, but she focused her gaze there anyway, content to wallow in the dark thoughts that had consumed her. Having to ditch a boring date, only to be abandoned by the one guy she thought she could trust, she was now stuck in a car with an insufferable companion, and going home to an empty house.

What a perfectly wretched evening.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Lila scowled, still facing the window. "No."

Perhaps wisely, Bruce didn't prod, but somehow, his question brought into sharp relief the common denominator at the core of Lila's brooding. Because – even if Ken _had_ rescued her this evening, he would still be mooning over Ms. Dalton, because his crush was as obvious as it was disgusting. Even if her father _had_ been in town instead of away for business, he would've been out with Ms. Dalton, just like he was practically every other night he in Sweet Valley. He was completely infatuated with her, too, even though he was at least twenty years older than her.

"What does Nora Dalton have that I don't?" she burst out, closing her fists around the straps of her shoes.

Bruce sent her a sidelong glance. "Do you really want me to answer that?" he mused by way of reply.

"She's a witch," Lila declared darkly. "There is no other explanation for the way she's ruined my life."

"Whoa." Bruce lifted a surprised brow. "Somehow I don't think we're talking about a French grade anymore."

"She's cast a spell on my father, and on Ken Matthews, too," Lila fumed. "Neither one of them is ever around anymore – they're too busy with _her_."

Bruce snorted. " _You_ have the hots for Ken Matthews?!"

"No!" Lila shot back hotly. "But he's been a more reliable date that you, lately."

"Touché," Bruce replied drolly.

Lila didn't seem to hear him; she was working herself up into a pretty good rage over the injustice of her life. "Not that it would matter anyway, even if I did like him like that," she spat. "He's so hung up on her – it's disgusting, and embarrassing. She's way too old for him – and way too young for my father. Why can't she find someone her own age to mess around with?"

"How old is she, anyway?" Bruce asked.

"Twenty-five," she informed him, sounding scandalized. "There's no way she's interested in anything but my father's money, but she's hooked him anyway, the gold-digging slut."

Bruce quirked a smile. "My, my, do I detect a hint of jealousy?" he teased.

Lila glowered at him. "You're not helping."

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair as he eyed the road. "Look, Lila, you have nothing to be jealous of," he assured her. "Dalton's hot, but she's also desperate. There's something about the way she blew into town and immediately latched onto your father, practically the second she landed…my guess is, she's hiding something. Something _big_ ," he added for emphasis.

Lila's glare softened into a curious look. "You really think so?" she mused, a twinge of hope flaring in her heart.

Bruce shrugged. "I know what a gold-digger looks like," he informed her, "and Dalton's not it. Nope – I'd bet that what she wants from your father is protection, not money."

Lila frowned. "Protection from what?" she asked skeptically.

Bruce shrugged again. "I don't know," he replied. "Abusive husband? Lunatic relative? Crazy psychopathic stalker? Who knows."

"Great," Lila grunted, "that's exactly what I want my father to get mixed up in – somebody else's crazy shit."

"Yeah, it doesn't seem fair, does it," Bruce mused, "considering the way he ignores yours."

Lila turned back to the window.

"Hey." Bruce touched Lila's leg, sliding a warm caress over the silk of her dress. "Don't feel threatened by Dalton – once your father gets tired of playing the knight in shining armor, he'll drop her."

"And Ken?"

Bruce scoffed. "Ken Matthews is a moron," he asserted. "I can't believe you're wasting your time on him."

Lila gently touched the back of Bruce's hand, still resting on her thigh. "And who else am I supposed to waste my time with?" she murmured.

Bruce didn't respond, beyond curling his fingers around hers.

"I waited for you, after Monaco," she admitted. _Like a complete idiot_ , she added silently. _Silly me, thinking that kiss in Monte Carlo meant something_. No one had ever kissed her like that before – it had made her feel vulnerable, yet powerful; weak-kneed, yet full of fire. It had been the beautiful, dream-like pinnacle of an otherwise dull trip, and perhaps stupidly, she'd thought he'd felt the same way about it. After returning to Sweet Valley, she'd waited for him to call, or drop by, or even acknowledge her existence…all for naught, as it turned out.

She was incredibly angry, but also incredibly hurt by his callousness. She'd seen a different, more romantic side of him during their day in Monte Carlo, but when he returned to Sweet Valley, he had turned back into his usual egotistical, asshole self.

He'd acted as if nothing had happened between them during the summer – no tennis matches, no water fights, no playing pretend. Nothing.

And yet…

Sitting here with him now, their clasped hands resting in her lap, the sexual tension between them was palpable.

She twisted the straps of her shoes in her other hand, a faint flush creeping over her as her heart began to throb against her ribs. "Why did you drop me?" she asked softly, feeling tears welling up behind her eyes for the second time that evening.

Bruce swallowed hard. "I didn't drop you, Lila," he replied, brushing his thumb over the backs of her fingers. "I never had you to begin with."

It was Lila's turn to be silent. She didn't know how to respond to that.

"I have a reputation to maintain," he continued after a long moment. "So do you, for that matter."

"Gee, Bruce, you're such a romantic," she commented sarcastically.

"Oh, come off it, you know what I mean," he returned irritably. "We aren't just two nobodies who can hook up without consequence. You said it yourself, back in Monte Carlo – my mother would have a cow if we ever got engaged. I can't imagine that your father would be too thrilled, either." He sighed. "I don't know about you, but I'm not here for some Romeo and Juliet bullshit."

Lila furrowed her brow as she gazed at him. "Don't flatter yourself, Bruce Patman. I _don't_ want to marry you," she assured him. "For God's sake, I'm only sixteen!"

He laced his fingers through hers. "So what _do_ you want?"

She looked down at their hands, still resting in her lap. "This," she said softly. "I want to know that what happened in Monte Carlo mattered."

He squeezed her hand, a wave of warmth sliding up the length of her arm. "It did. It does," he acknowledged. "I _do_ care about you, Lila, it's just…"

"What?" she prompted.

He eased to a stop at the end of their street and flicked on his turn signal. Once the coast was clear, he made the turn towards Fowler Crest. "I'm not a one-woman kinda guy," he said ruefully. "I enjoy playing the field and racking up conquests." He grinned. "It's my second-favorite sport, in fact, after tennis."

"I hope you don't consider me a conquest," Lila sniffed. _Especially since you haven't gotten everything you've wanted from me_ , she added silently.

"Nope," he confirmed, still smiling. He turned up the drive in front of her house. "Quite frankly, I respect you too much for that."

"You certainly have a funny way of showing it," Lila muttered.

"Do I?" Bruce mused, putting his Porsche into park at Lila's front door. "You're home, safe and sound, aren't you? That's more than I can say for Susan Gullick," he added with a sneer, grabbing her hand again.

Lila couldn't help but chuckle at that, feeling at turns amused and gleeful that she had guessed the origins of his evening correctly. "You're terrible," she laughed, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Mmm, so are you," he teased, pulling her close, pressing a playful kiss to her lips.

They parted for the space of a breath before leaning in again, their mouths meeting in a long, lingering kiss. Lila snaked her arm around Bruce's shoulders, her shoes still dangling from her fingertips, as they savored the moment, the comfort and familiarity of the caress.

"Friends?" he whispered against her lips, nipping at the corner of her mouth.

She nodded, resting her forehead on his. "Forever," she agreed, before stealing one last kiss and climbing out of the car.


End file.
